"Surely," he added, staring at Rowland, "either I'm greatly mistaken, or it is—" "You are not mistaken, Baptist," returned Rowland with a gesture of silence; "it is your old friend. The washerwoman reported that she had seen a man one day riding out for an early morning hunt, but was unsure of his identity. Rhea’s head exploded into a spray of blood, brain, and bone. Coarse as were the ruffian's notions of feminine beauty, he could not be insensible to the surpassing loveliness of the fair creature, who had thus solicited his attention. She recoiled. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. “Now,” he said, quietly, “it’s time we stopped this nonsense. The command was sullenly obeyed, for the fellow did not appear to relish the rating. "I suppose I was mistaken," returned Gay.
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